


Direwolves, Stags, Roses, and Lions

by GreysonFrost



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Hunger Games (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Hunger Games, F/M, M/M, age change, number of deaths, random character sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreysonFrost/pseuds/GreysonFrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many lives were taken because of the Game including her serious, quiet, stern, yet caring father, Eddard Stark. For Sansa Stark, as well as everyone else in Seven Kingdoms, Hunger Games is hell.</p><p>But life is cruel and the odds are certainly not in her favor. </p><p>Surviving is her main goal now because she has made a promise to her family, that she would return safely, alive. That she would be the victor of the 76th Hunger Games.</p><p>But nothing can prepare her when she meet gentle Willas Tyrell from District 3 - Highgarden.</p><p>It seems, her life would be more than just a Hunger Game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note : Alright, much to be explained here, so I’ll start with the simplest explanation first.
> 
> Firstly, I won’t make the districts to be VERY accurate to the real THG because (example) Highgarden = fertility, agriculture, and livestock. Agriculture = District 11. District 11 = As poor as District 12, strict security. See what I mean? So little similarity, yet so intriguing storyline. 
> 
> Sansa Stark’s age will be altered into 17. Willas is 21. Garlan is 20, Loras 18, and Margaery 17.
> 
> Oh, and all the Stark children has passed 12 so
> 
> Arya : 16  
> Bran : 15  
> Rickon : 14
> 
> I'm so sorry for this brutal age change but you can't expect a 9 year old girl having a love story with an 8 year old boy or something, right? Right.
> 
> It's actually more like Hunger Games in Westeros. 
> 
> I'm not a native speaker (ha) so please do tell me if I misspelled something or if there are any wrong grammars. I suck at it.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy.

Sansa Stark stares at the calendar that’s hanging on the wall. How she hates its very existence, how she wished for it to burn into ashes. She stares at the date so hard that she wouldn’t be surprised if the calendar suddenly got burned.

“The Hunger Games.” She hears Robb mutters from the other side of the table. She turns her head to meet her brother’s eyes.

The air around the dining table becomes cold. Catelyn’s face, which’s pale since days ago becomes paler, if it’s possible.

“Today is the reaping day.” Sansa says, wondering why her voice is so calm even though part of her is dying.

“We’ll get through it.” Robb says, trying to reassure her.

Sansa shakes her head, “I’m scared.” She says meekly. She knows she shouldn’t have said that, remembering the fact that her mother or Robb’s or Jon’s chance on getting reaped today is higher than her. But still…

“Everything’s gonna be alright, Sansa.” Catelyn says, smiling at her daughter, although you can’t miss the hollow glint in the woman’s eyes.

She sighs. Bran, and Rickon have been awfully quiet since morning. None of them have reached 12, so they’re still safe. Physically, not mentally.

“Alright now, you kids must get ready, now.” Catelyn orders her children – Robb, Jon, Arya, and Sansa – while trying to ignore the big hole she feels in her chest. How she wished world could be nicer to her and her family.

Wordlessly, they left the table. Sansa closes her bedroom door and opens her wardrobe. All the clothes seems dull and ugly to her. Sansa Stark is a girl who loves to dress up, yet for the Reaping Day, not even her love of fashion could brighten her day. Not a bit.

After she settled into her ugly white shirt and skirt, she brushes her long red hair until it shone like fire. She doesn’t bother with braiding it, she doesn’t bother with anything today.

They left the house in silence but she knows – they know – that Bran, and Rickon are screaming inside not wanting them to leave.

The Hall of Justice never looked glummer than today, and never as crowded. Sansa spots Jeyne Poole standing with her family. Strange to see her so tense when she’s usually very easy going and cheerful. But this happens every year and she has gotten used to it. Last year, it was Jeyne’s sister.

She didn’t survive.

There are Rodrik and Jory Cassel, a pang of anger when she sees Luwin, because he’s so old and chances of him getting reaped are far bigger than hers. She spots the Karstarks, the Greatjons, the Cerwyns, and many more people she knows.

The reaping starts with taking blood samples and the usual, boring, video of the Dark Days played on the screen.

She remembers it to the bones. Rhaegar Targaryen, from King’s Landing – Capitol - kidnaps her aunt Lyanna, who Robert Baratheon loved, so Robert Baratheon, the Lannisters, and her father, Eddard Stark marches to the Capitol to save Lyanna but fails, yet manages to slay the Targaryens. A war, Aerys killed, Lyanna’s dead, Robert on the Iron Throne in King's Landing with Tywin Lannister whispering in his ears.

This Hunger Game thing is the Lannister’s idea. And Robert Baratheon seems to think that his debt to the Lannisters is far greater than the lives of innocent people, including his best friend’s offspring’s lifes.

Screw the Lannisters and the stupidity of the drunken Robert Stupid Baratheon.

Then, Varys smiles at the crowd in front of him.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, “And the girl tribute for the annual 76th Hunger Games is….”

Sansa holds her breath, everyone seems to hold their breath. Even the birds and the trees don’t seem to move. Not even the winds blow.

 _‘Not mother, please not her, not Jeyne, not mother, not me, not Jeyne, not mother, not me, not Jeyne, not mother, not me, not Jeyne, not mother, not me…’_ She prays in her head.

Nothing can prepare her for what comes next.

“ _Sansa Stark_!”

And the world seems to stop.

It took her a few seconds and Jeyne’s hands tight on her body to realize what’s going on.

No, no, no.

No. no. This _can’t_ be happening! She thought in her head.

Her body feels numb and she had trouble breathing. But it _is_ her name that Varys just roared.

“No! no! Sansa! Not Sansa! No, no, no!” She can hear Robb and Jon and Bran screams, and Rickon crying from the other side of the crowds.

She can hear her mother’s screaming and Arya’s shouting, she’s surely going to volunteer if Sansa doesn’t move now. All eyes on her, waiting for her to break down. But she’s not going to give them the satisfaction. She’s not going to give them their satisfaction.

So she raises her chin up, face flat, and walks gracefully to the stage.

“My, my, what a beautiful girl you are, Sansa, dear.” Varys says, giggling as she steps on the stage.

“Thank you.” She replies curtly.

“Is that your mother, wanting to volunteer for you?” He asks again as Catelyn screams, “TAKE ME!”

Her heart churns to see her mother like that, “Yes, but I am strong enough to participate in the Hunger Games, you don’t have to replace me.” Sansa says loudly.

“Fierce little one,” Varys says, “I’m sure you’ll do great in the Game.”

Sansa nods. Do great in the game. To the hell with that, she doesn’t even know how to wield a sword.

The boy tribute is Jory Cassel and Sansa nearly cries because she’s glad that it’s not Robb or Jon that’s got picked and hopes that it’s not him who kills her in the game later.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Bran’s the first one to reach her when they are finally allowed to meet Sansa.

“San! Sansa, Sansa, oh, Sansa!” He’s just so angry and so sad that he couldn’t even speak. Sansa tries to hold back her tears as Bran hugs her tighter than ever.

Rickon and Robb also hug her. Rickon cries like Bran but Robb manages not to.

“Robb,” She says and hugs her dearest brother, “Listen to me, they’re all in your care now, no, don’t say a word just yet!” she says when Robb starts to open his mouth, “Take care of mother, and Bran, and Rickon, and Arya, take care of Grey Wind and Lady, too, you’re all their hope now, do your best, I’ll cope, I will.”

Robb bits his lip hard, “I know, I know you will, Sansa, I know you’ll win, be safe, please, I love you so much.” He says, kissing her head and cheek and hugs her hard.

 _‘I can’t win, Robb, you know it.’_ She thinks bitterly but knows better than to say it.

“Bran, Rickon,” She says, turning to her youngest siblings, “Listen to me, okay? We don’t have much time so you have to stop crying and listen to me.”

Bran nods and Rickon tries so hard to hold his tears. Sansa smiles wryly, “I know, I’ll be alright, promise me you’ll do what mother tells you to. Bran, you take care of Rickon and Summer, too, don’t forget to take him out for a walk, Rickon, too, try to train Shaggydog, alright? Don’t cause trouble, behave, I’ll be alright.” She says quickly, clasping Bran’s face, then Rickon, and kisses both of their cheeks and hugs them both tightly.

“Arya,” She calls, not giving Bran and Rickon the audacity to speak because she’s afraid she might cry, “Arya, I know we’re not very close with each other but—“

“I know, Sansa,” her sister says heavily, she’s not crying but she has this hard glint in her eyes, “You’ve watched me train before, try to remember it in your head instead of remembering love stories or cute dresses for once, this COULD save your life.” She says again.

Sansa laughs shakily, “I know, I know, Arya, I love you, behave, okay? Don’t challenge the Peacekeepers, don’t do rash thing, don’t EVER step out of the boundary line, ever again, protect Bran and Rickon, take care of Nymeria, train her.”

“I will.”

“Jon!” She says and Jon steps closer, he was never been really close with her, like Arya, but, “I know I’m a bad person but please, protect Robb and mother and the rest, too.” She says, hugging him. Sansa can feel him nodding.

She stares at her mother then, her beautiful, strong, and gentle mother, now crying silently.

“I know I shouldn’t have cried…” Catelyn started.

“No, no, it’s alright…” Sansa breathes and hugs the woman she loves most, “Mother, be strong, I’m scared,” She finally cries, at the arms of her mother, all of her strength evaporated and Sansa feels like she want to spend her whole life here, in her mother’s arm with her siblings.

“No, no, listen to me,” Catelyn says, “You are a Stark, and _winter_ is coming for you, Sansa, this is _your_ winter, but you know what Starks are best at?”

“Keeping their honors?”

Catelyn laughs, “That, too, and enduring things, we have lived in the harsh north and we endure, you will too, child, be not afraid, you’ll survive, you’re my dearest daughter, you’re a Stark and a Tully, you _will_ survive.” She says strongly, clasping her daughter’s face, wiping Sansa’s tears away and kisses her cheek

Sansa nods, giving in to the tears.

“Promise me you’ll win, Sansa.” Bran says, holding her hand tight.

“Promise us you’ll come back home and tell me stories at night.” Rickon says, looking at Sansa with her own Tully eyes.

“Yes, Sansa, promise me you’ll survive, promise me you _will_ fight and defeat those tributes and come back.” Arya joins in, staring hard into her eyes.

“I promise, I promise, Gosh, I promise.” Sansa says.

“Don’t let them see your tears.” Robb says, rubbing her head.

Then the Peacekeepers open the door and forcing her family to go out.

Jeyne Poole comes in then, hugging her before they could say any words.

“Sansa, for the love and friendship we both have and for the love you bear for your family, promise me you have to win!” She screams into her hair.

Sansa cries harder, “I CAN’T Jeyne! I can’t even wield a blade, how can I win!?”

“Because you’re my friend, because you’re Sansa Stark!”

Jeyne quickly pulls something out from her pocket, “Here,” she says, “Bran forgot to give it to you when he’s inside, you talk too much and give him no chance to give this pin.” She says again while showing her a silver direwolf pin and fastened it onto Sansa’s shirt.

“Grey direwolves of Stark.” Sansa mumbles.

“Yes, the direwolves of Stark, he hoped it would give you luck.”

Sansa smiles sadly, “I hope it will, ‘cause I’m going to need a whole lot of it.”

They laugh then and Jeyne throws her one last sad glance when the Peacekeepers told them their time is up.


	2. Direwolf from 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, quick explanations.
> 
> Sansa and the other citizens of Seven Kingdoms (except King's Landing) called Capitol as King's Landing, and they also called other Districts with names. (Ex. District 12 = Winterfell, Capitol = King's Landing)
> 
> While people in King's Landing, called King's Landing as Capitol and they call Winterfell, Highgarden, Casterly Rock, or other places as District 12, District 3, or District 2. (Ex. Winterfell = District 12, Highgarden = District 3)

Dacey Mormont and Benjen Stark are their mentor.

Sansa once know Dacey as a strong and talkative girl, yet after the 70th Hunger Games, she becomes quiet, Dacey no longer wears dresses and skirts, instead she wears ladies garbs and sometimes even armor. Jon’s close to Dacey’s relative, Jeor Mormont, he told her that Jeor sometimes hear Dacey screams at night, that she tends to lock herself in the training ground, that she sometimes doesn’t even bother to sleep.

Sansa doesn’t blame her.

Her own uncle, Benjen Stark, won the 60th Hunger Games and he was never the same after the Game. He’s rarely home, always left until night, sometimes he doesn’t come home at all. Winning the Hunger Games is not a joy at all, at least, that’s what it is to Sansa. The Capitol is fierce, scratch that, the royal family – Lannisters – are all fierce demons, one misstep could make the Lannister thinks you’re up to something, and that often leads you to your own death.

She stares at the view of Winterfell – District 12 – for the last time, how she wished she could still be in there, home with her family and praying for the tributes’ safety, or probably she would bicker with Arya, or playing with Lady with Bran and Rickon and Summer and Shaggydog.

She didn’t even say goodbye to Lady.

“So, you’re the tributes for this annual Hunger Games.” Dacey starts flatly. Her expression is unreadable. Sansa could feel Benjen’s eyes on her.

“I know you, you’re Rodrik’s boy.” Benjen says to Jory.

Jory nods stiffly, he hasn’t talked much since the reaping, and Sansa somehow hadn’t got the urge to start a conversation with him.

“Rodrik’s a strong man, he taught you how to wield blade, yes?” Dacey asks.

“Yes, I can handle blades and knifes, sometimes bow and arrow.”

 _‘Yes, you can handle blades and knifes, sometimes bow and arrow while I’m here, the only thing I can do is sing, sew, and dance, what a great comfort for me.’_ Sansa curses in her head.

“Did Eddard teach you something you can do to defend yourself, Sansa?” Benjen’s voice broke her out of her chain of thoughts.

Her heart churns at her father’s name. Her sweet, quiet, serious, yet caring father who she loved so much. Eddard Stark had died on the 74th Hunger Games. His death was so close, so very close. Sansa remembers her mother’s cries at night that lasted for days, how Robb left the house through the back door and attack a helpless tree on their backyard with his father’s wooden sword, crying as he slashes through the tree, how Rickon becomes wild after that, and Bran becomes quieter.

“Y-yes, but I’ve never been good at it.” Sansa answers quietly.

“Not even wielding a sword?” Dacey’s question makes her heart sink even more.

Sansa shakes her head in shame, how could she survive when she knows there’s nothing she can do to defend herself?

“Now, now, that’s okay, power is not the only thing you can do to defend yourself.” Varys says nicely.

Sansa says nothing, just stares blankly at the bald man.

“You know what? You two should just… rest for today, I’m sure you two need some time for yourselves.” Dacey sighs heavily as she stands up.

“No.” the answer plops out from Sansa’s mouth even before she can stop it.

“What?” Dacey repeats.

“I don’t have time for myself, the Game is getting closer and I’d rather be doing something to help me cope with the Game rather than locking myself in a room and cry myself to sleep.” Sansa says, challenging Dacey to talk back to her.

However, Dacey is quiet.

“Do you know how you can survive in that hell of a game?” Dacey suddenly says, startling her a bit. “Stay out of people and fight for your life, _live_ for yourself.” She says mercilessly.

“Enough, Dacey.” Benjen warns sharply, Dacey glares at him. “Sit, I’m pretty much sure Maege would be angry with you if you let Sansa die in the Arena.”

Hesitantly, Dacey plops down next to Benjen.

“Now,” Benjen starts again, “Jory, you and I are going to train when we reach King’s Landing – Capitol – and Sansa, you’re good in many things, right?”

“Many things but not at defending myself.”

“Singing, sewing, embroidery, dancing, poetry, painting…” Dacey counts lazily with her fingers.

Varys shrugs, “Sewing can do her good, if the Arena is in the woods, she can make her own shelter.”

“With what? Leafs? Leafs are not cottons.” Dacey snorts and Sansa wants to slap her for it.

“No, but she has brain.” Benjen says quietly. “Knowledge can be a better weapon than swords, tell me, Sansa, does Cat teach you about plants and animals, or the nature?”

“…Well, yes.”

“That’ll do.”

“What about other tributes?” Jory asks.

“Humans are far more dangerous enemies, that wretched King’s Landing has proved it.”

“Dacey.” Benjen warns her again, Dacey shrugs, “Don’t trust people too much, making allies is good, but you have to do it carefully, the tributes, they are fighting for their lives, who knows what will they do, especially from District 1, 2, and 4, you’ll have to watch out for them, especially 2.”

“Casterly Rock?”

“Yes, they _worshipped_ the royal family, not Robert though, only the Lannisters, trust neither of them, don’t reveal too much of yourselves, in fact…” Benjen stops, “Don’t show any emotions if you can.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

King’s Landing – Capitol – Is pretty, Sansa would have thought that if she’s here for sightseeing, not to be butchered. The tribute tower is grand and luxurious but it feels hollow to her.

Jory is surprisingly brighter than herself after they arrived at King’s Landing.

“You’ll never know what’ll happen,” He says while chewing on his roasted lamb, “Better enjoy it while we can.”

That’s not a pleasing thought but it made her feel better, at least.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Her stylist is Reny Baratheon, the King’s own brother and Sansa’s surprised to see an important man like him gets the 12th District. Perhaps Robert felt guilty about Ned Stark dying in the Game. Not a pleasing thought at all.

“Renly Baratheon, at your service.” He smiles, and Sansa replies it with a silent nod with a small smile. Behind him are two girls and one boy, one of the girl has red hair with tight ringlets but fall beautifully onto her back, the other has dark, curly hair, long face, skinnier than the redhead, yet pretty. The other boy is a bit fat yet has this kind aura around him.

“They are your prep team, you see, every tribute should have a prep team to make them look presentable for certain occasions.” He says, smiling at her. “Well, I shall leave you in their hands for now, you’ll meet me when you’re done with them.” Renly says again, smiling and left the room.

The prep team quickly surrounds her and the redhead steps closer to her.

“I’m Ross, and this is Shae,” She says while pointing to herself, then to the dark haired girl, “And this man here is Podrick.” Ross finishes, pointing at the boy.

“Sansa Stark.” Sansa replies politely.

“Don’t look so troubled, we’ll make you look stunning for tonight.” Ross says again, smiling as she makes Sansa lay on the bed.

 _‘Don’t look so troubled because tonight I’ll be stunning before the other tributes and the whole King’s Landing citizens and they will decide whether to support me or let me die.’_ But Sansa obediently lay down.

“Your hair is very beautiful, like a fire.” The one called Shae says, she has this strange accent to her. “I thought you won’t find red hair in the north.”

“No, that’s not really true, my mother’s hair is red, and so does my older brother and two of my younger brothers.” Sansa says unconsciously.

Ross frowns, “Your hair is even prettier than mine.” She pouts as she pours some sweet smelling ointment to Sansa’s skin.

Sansa had never truly been naked in front of anybody else except her mother, Bran, Rickon, or Arya. Yet here she is now, naked in front of Ross, Shae, and Podrick.

“What is that?” She can’t help but ask as the sweet smell of the ointment pierced her nostrils, making her eyes water and her head dizzy.

“This ointment will make your skin shine even more! You’ll look radiant and stunning with your pale healthy skin, North is the same as Snow to us here in the Capitol.” Ross replies excitedly.

Sansa wonders why the people in King’s Landing likes to call the place Capitol, rather than King’s Landing.

“So you’ll make me look even more… paler?” She asks as Podrick handling her nails.

“Pale, but not like stone,” Shae says, now rubbing some liquid on her hair that smells like Lavender and Sansa wonders what does Lavender had to do with her hair because Lavender is purple and her hair is red. “Pale, like the snow, shining, bright.”

“Your eyes are exquisite too,” Ross says, staring curiously at Sansa’s blue eyes. “Pretty thing you are, we’ll going to make you look exquisite and lovely tonight.”

“I want her to look cocky and merciless, somehow,” Shae says, now brushing Sansa’s hair carefully, “I’ve never been to District 12 and I’ve always thought snow as something unforgiving and harsh, Sansa clearly has the potential to look dramatic.”

“Winterfell is not harsh,” Sansa says before she could stop it, “Why do you call it District 12?”

Ross blinks, “There are so many names to be remembered and to be spelled! It’s much easier if we just call it District 12.” She laughs, as if not believing Sansa for asking such question.

Sansa decides that she’ll never understand the way King’s Landing citizens think.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I hate seeing you here.” Is the first word she got as soon as she met Renly again.

“Excuse me?” Sansa asks, offended.

 “The prep team had done an amazing job,” he mutters as he circles Sansa, completely ignoring her.

Sansa says no word because she’s too confused of what she’s going to answer.

“I have always liked winter… winter in Capitol has always been very jolly.” Renly says again.

“The prep team back there said about… something appearing merciless.” Sansa finally says.

“Merciless, harsh, strong, and unforgiving,” Renly nods, picking up a beautiful snow-white cloth and wraps it on Sansa’s body. “That’s what King’s Landing thought of winter in Winterfell.”

She pauses for a moment, “You didn’t say Captiol or District 12 like anybody else.” She rambles.

“I admit that I actually liked Winterfell and King’s Landing more than Capitol and District 12.” He mutters, mouth turning downwards and eyebrow arching up as if saying, “Not bad.”

“Tell me, Sansa, what does Winterfell like in winter?” he asks.

“Excuse me?” She asks. Sansa always thought of the King’s Landing citizens as selfish and King’s Landing-centric.

“You heard me, winter in Winterfell, December, snow, Christmas trees, Yule cakes, anything.”

“Well…” Sansa starts, “It’s… peaceful… my family tends to roast chestnuts, putting grass in socks, gather in front of the fireplace to warm ourselves, making snowman and snowball fights, playing with our wolves, sleighing…” she lists of the thing she’d do with her family in winter and her heart aches again at the thought of her family.

Sansa didn’t put “Decorating Christmas Tree” on the list because the Christmas Tree in her house is just a small ornamental tree that her father made, with the help of her mother, herself, and her siblings. It’s an old tree, it’s not even an evergreen tree because it’s forbidden to cut down an evergreen tree, so her father made it from a bonsai weirwood tree he, gods know how he could learn to bonsai a tree, a weirwood tree, to be exact. They would put up cheap Christmas tree ornaments on the leafless branches, although most of the ornaments were hand-made.

“White Christmas…” Renly mutters, “White Christmas, with snow white redheaded girl that let out a peaceful and warm aura instead of the cold and harsh winter King’s Landing used to know.”

She blinks, “I want you to give out this docile nature to the crowds, other tributes would think that you’re weak but… snow aren’t always weak.” Renly says again, pressing another white fur to her body.

“I’m doting on you girl, I’ll make sure you’ll stun them out there, you’ll be much more safer if the people here adore you, and that’s what I’m aiming for.” He grins at her.

Sansa’s speechless, “You want to keep me alive?” she repeats.

“Of course, yes,” Renly rolls his eyes, “Like I said, I hate seeing you here, I assure you you’ll be the best tribute they’ll ever see and you’ll have tons of sponsors lining up, that’ll give you more chance to live, girl.”

Her heart churns at his words. Sansa decides that Renly is alright, the fact that he’s helping her makes her happy at least.

“The Direwolf from 12.” He says, eyes glinting with triumph.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The dress is absolutely marvelous. White and fluffly like snow, it’s a strapless, long gown that reaches the floor. The top of the gown are made to be like icicles and snow crystals, hugging Sansa’s chest beautifully, all white. From waist to bottom, it fell down with jagged, thick layers that fell darker in every layer until it’s grey, the layers remind Sansa of her direwolves at home. Sansa Stark loves pretty things, and she feels, at least, for tonight she can enjoy the festivities.

Jory looks handsome in his white cloak and once again, Sansa hopes that she doesn’t have to kill him, or vice versa.

Their carriage is also pretty. It’s grey and silver with shiny icicles framing its sides.

“Wait until you see it running, this thing here brings winter.” Renly boasts happily.

Dacey Mormont frowns a bit when she looks at Sansa and Jory. “So like Winterfell.” She mutters softly.

“Stand tall girl, don’t appear weak in front of them, smile, but appear strong, chin up.” Benjen says warmly to her, patting Sansa’s shoulder.

However, Sansa finds it hard to stand tall when she sees other tributes from other districts.

“Don’t look at them too much, don’t draw to much attention, at least, not now.” Jory says from next to her.

“I know.”

“You two look very marvelous, I’m positive that sponsors are going to line up after seeing you.” Varys giggles softly.

When it’s their time to go, Sansa and Jory ride the carriage and held hand, raising it up so everyone can see, and her smile never faltered from her face. Sword fighting or martial arts are probably not the thing she good at but smiling and being pretty is especially Sansa’s forte.

Their carriage actually let out tons of snowflakes from the rear, sparkling and blown away like silver glitters, making snow-trails behind her.

For a second she remembers herself sleighing with Bran and Robb and Rickon and Arya and Jon back in Winterfell. Their carriage always left snow-trails behind.

She makes sure she makes eye contacts with the citizens as many as she can.

And the crowds went crazy because how pretty she is and how handsome Jory is and how beautiful their dresses are and how marvelous their carriage are.

Because they are the Direwolves from 12.


	3. Training with Greyjoy, Interview with Baelish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could add more comely characters for Casterly Rock and Storm's End, rather than putting Gregor and Meryn *shrugs*
> 
> And here our precious Willas finally makes his entrance! :D

The practice day finally arrives and Sansa is freaking out. The only thing she knows about sword is, “Stick ‘em with the pointy end.”

Why?

Because Arya always mutter that word every time she plays with father’s wooden sword, Ice, they call it.

If only she could throw away her dignity for awhile and learn how to at least wield it like Arya or Robb, or Jon.

Benjen has been training her with patience, along with Jory. But Dacey, with her carefree manners and sarcasm tongue makes Sansa sometimes feel pessimistic, although sometimes she finds herself trying to be better and better just so she can prove that Dacey is wrong.

Her progress is slow, and she’s ashamed of it.

The only thing she can master is knife, dagger, and sword. Sansa doesn’t even sure if ‘master’ is the word, she think ‘able to handle’ is more fitting for her poor skills.

So she enters the training center with Jory, trying not to look as nervous as she is inside.

“Which station would you want to go?” Jory asks, his eyes moving from station to station.

“I don’t know… I think I’ll go to the edible plants first, where do you want to go?” She answers.

Jory shrugs, “Swords, probably, I can accompany you in the edible plants station if you want to.” He offers kindly.

“No, no, you should practice, too, I don’t want to be a burden.” Sansa reclines his offer.

“You sure?” He asks, concerned.

“Yes.” Sansa replies sternly, hating the fact that Jory is so kind to her.

Although regretting the fact that she should’ve accepted Jory’s offer, Sansa makes her way to the station of her choice.

It’s not as crowded as other stations and Sansa is grateful for that. The only tributes in the station are a tall, burly guy with beautiful chestnut brown hair and – if Sansa’s not wrong – brown, almost golden eyes.

 _‘He’s handsome.’_ Sansa can’t help but thought of that, despite the fact that he looked 4 or 5 years older than her.

The other tributes in the station are a boy and a girl that seems to be in the same district. The girl has curly muddy brown hair that reaches her shoulder, a bit too skinny for her age. The boy has dirty blonde hair that looks untidy, lots of freckles and he looks like he gets more food than the girl.

“Ah, are you interested in learning plants, girl?” asks the mentor in the station, startling Sansa a bit.

“Y-yes.” She answers, ignoring the blush in her cheek when the tributes in the station look at her.

“Well, come here then, no one’s going to bite.” He jokes, motioning her to come.

Sansa comes and stand next to the skinny girl, the farthest point she can get from the chestnut guy.

“Now, uh… Sansa? Ah, yes, Sansa, do you have experience or knowledge in plants and herbs?” the mentor, Lomys, asks.

“Well, I have lots of books about plants back home.” She answers truthfully.

“Good, good, now, tell me, do you know what this plant is?” he says, showing a plant with beautiful white flowers with purple muck in the middle of the flower with long triangular leafs.

“Katniss… Sagittaria.” Sansa answers quietly. She sees the chestnut guy nods from the corner of her eyes and the skinny girl mutters something unintelligible.

Lomys looks pleased, “Correct, my dear, now… what about this? Does any of you know what this is?” he asks, showing a long plant with long leafs like spikes, it reminds Sansa of grains a bit.

“Cattails.” Says the skinny girl next to Sansa before she can open her mouth to answer.

“Very good…” Lomys says, “And this…?” he asks. It’s a white flower with dark lines on the petals, in the center of the petals is yellow. It’s pretty.

“Wood Sorrel.” Says the blonde guy, his voice is so quiet Sansa could almost hear what he’s saying.

“This?” Lomys asks, showing a long, thin plant with white flowers spreading with small rame sprouting from the center of the stem, like a small tree.

“Field Pennycress.” Sansa answers quickly, remembering the plant as the plant Arya likes to pluck when she’s small.

“Good, good. And… this?” Lomys asks again, showing them a woody plant with unlobed, lanceolate-shaped leafs and bright blue petals with two rows of bract.

The plant is alien for her.

“Chicory.” Says the chestnut guy for the first time, and Sansa feels the hair on her neck rise at his calm, deep voice.

She spends longer time in the edible plants station than in other stations.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

In the end, Sansa manages to go to all of the stations.

At the end of the day, Sansa manages to decide who she can be able to handle and who she decides she’ll be better than to hold conversations with.

There’s young, sweet Robin from Vale – District 6, who’s only 12 years old. The odds are certainly not in his favor. Or is it? Sansa remembers a Game where a 12 year old girl who no one seems to really care about can kill mercilessly and incredibly smart. She’s the winner of the 59th Hunger Games.

Then there’s Mya Stone, from the same district. Feisty, hot-headed, and independent, and good with axe. (Sansa makes sure she won’t get in Mya’s axe-range later in the Game)

Sweet Desmera Redwyne from Highgarden – District 3, quiet yet kind. (Sansa suspects Desmera is in the same districts as the guy with the chestnut hair but too shy to ask)

And Elyon Hawthorne and Rupert Flynn from Greenstone – District 9. 

Sansa makes sure to avoid the Careers as best as she can.

There’s Meryn Trant form Storm’s End – District 1 – and Carellene Smallwood, whose face is much much comely than Meryn’s.

Tall, burly,nd intimidating Gregor Clegane from Casterly Rock – District 2 – and small, pretty Jeyne Westerling. Gregor doesn’t afraid to show them his full strength and even one glance of him makes the hair around Sansa’s neck rise. Jeyne is quiet but Sansa knows better than to think of her as not-dangerous.

Then, there are Asha and Theon Greyjoy from Pyke – District 4. Both of them shares the same sly look but Asha looks more intimidating than her brother, she instantly went to the trident station and looks more than promising with it.

Theon loves to smile and there’s something in his smile that makes Sansa feels uneasy.

She remembers their first meeting.

Sansa was going to the knife station, seeing it was less crowded than before and everyone’s busy with their own activity, so she made her way there.

However, she was blocked by a guy, he doesn’t look older than Robb. At one glance, Sansa knew from his Greyjoy look that this guy is part of the Careers.

Theon Greyjoy from Pyke. Or District 4.

“Going to the knife station? Can you even hold one?” he asks, smiling down at her.

She nodded silently, remembering how Robb or Jon or Arya holds their knife.

“Can’t you speak? You’re not an Avox are you?” He smiled again but Sansa can’t miss the scoffing glint in his dark eyes.

“No, I’m not an Avox and yes, I can hold a knive.” Sansa answered sternly.

Theon grinned, “Well, then, why don’t you show me? I’m curious.” He said, handing her a short, sharp knife.

Sansa took it hesitantly, remembering how Arya uses to fling it around her just to scare the crap out of her.

Theon smirked and hold out his hand as if saying ‘welcome’ and showed her the target. The farthest target.

 _‘Gods be good.’_ Sansa cursed inwardly, yet she got into a stance that she thinks is ‘right’ and glanced at the Greyjoy.

He’s still smirking and Sansa wanted to slap him so he can stop smiling for once. Theon nodded, and Sansa threw the knife, closing her eyes.

She heard Theon chuckled from next to her and she opened her eyes to see her knife hit the center of the target perfectly.

“Nice shot, but you should fix your stance, direwolf from 12.” Theon says, winking at her.

The hair around Sansa’s neck rose again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“As for today’s schedule, you two are going to appear for the interview, it’s an important even where you could harvest many sponsors for you in the game.” Varys says, checking his notebook and glancing at Sansa and Jory.

Dacey stares at Sansa silently, “I think you’ll do great in that show, this kind of thing is your forte, isn’t it?” She says surprisingly.

Sansa blinks at Dacey’s statement, “You could say that.” She says finally.

“You have to prepare for tonight’s show.” Benjen says, rising up from his seat and walks around the room.

“She certainly got the looks,” Dacey says, shrugging slightly. “And she’s polite, she can hold idle conversation.”

“I’m pretty much sure Sansa can do well in the show tonight.” Varys adds, sitting like a lady in one of the chair.

“Jory’s not bad too, he has the look.” Dacey says again, “And he’s good with arms, I think we’ll be safe for tonight.”

Before the show starts, Sansa is given to Renly and her prep team, and Jory to his stylist.

“Nice to see you again, Sansa.” Ros greets her and Sansa wonders if Ros always puts a certain amount of seduction in her voice.

“I heard you rocked at the Opening Ceremony.” Shae says, rising up to do Sansa’s hair.

“Did I?” Sansa asks, letting Podrick do her nails. The plump boy never says anything much but Sansa feels she enjoys his silent presence.

“Yes, everyone was talking about you.” Podrick says for the first time.

Sansa feels her cheek reddens, “You’re exaggerating.” She says, looking down bashfully.

“No, we’re not, and believe me, you’re going to rock today’s interview, too.” Shae says, giving Sansa’s hair the last touch.

Renly is as bright as her prep team when he shows Sansa what she’s going to wear for today’s interview.

“This is it, pretty thing, isn’t it?” he says proudly, showing her a white mini dress with diamonds and rose-and-direwolf-shaped laces and pearl white fur covering the lower part of the dress.

“It’s… pretty.” Sansa says in awe, she had never seen such beautiful clothe in her life except her previous Opening Ceremony dress.

The dress exposes her back and it’s sleeveless, the upper part is completely covered in laces and embroidery. If she manages to get out of the Game alive, she’d make a replica of the dress.

Renly helps her settle into her dress and he gives her the perfect accessories and shoes fitting for the dress.

“I love how your hair falls into your back.” He mutters, brushing Sansa’s hair.

“My mother’s hair is even prettier.” She says unconsciously and regrets it because another thought of her mother makes her yearning for Winterfell even more.

Renly smiles at her knowingly and Sansa feels embarrassed, “It’s starting, you should go.”

“Thanks, Renly.”

The tributes then are gathered backstage, waiting for their turn for the interview.

All of them are pretty and handsome, Sansa thinks, well… maybe not for Gregor and Meryn, but Elyon Hawthrone looks incredibly beautiful and flawless with her pale green mini dress and her copper red hair. Her hair is a shade darker than Sansa’s and it’s more… copper-y.

Desmera Redwyne is even more flawless, and so does Quentyn Martell from Dorne – District 5 with his eastern-y look and Tienne Sand from the same district is marvelous with her blonde hair.

When Sansa finds the chestnut guy, she can’t help but to be speechless over how handsome he is. His chestnut hair and gold-brown eyes stood out even more in his green-and-gold clothes. The perfect image of a prince.

 _‘Don’t be fooled, Sansa, he’s going to kill you the moment you give him the chance.’_ She quickly scolds herself.

But she can’t help but to glance every now and then in his direction.

“You look marvelous, Sansa.” Elyon’s voice breaks Sansa from her chain of thoughts.

“Elyon!” Sansa says, “You look pretty yourself.” And it is true. If Sansa recalls correctly, the sigil of House Hawthorne is brown lynx on a green field.

The redhead smiles dryly, “You’re made for this aren’t you? Interviews and being pretty,” She says wryly.

Sansa fidgets, teetering on her words, but Elyon shakes her head, “I am not made for this,” Elyon confides, “I get nervous around people, most of my family aren’t as self-conscious as me, I guess I get this from my mother’s side, my sister is a shy one too.” She rambles on.

Sansa smiles at her, not knowing what to say and Elyon blushes and ducks her head, “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have rambled like that.” She says, smiling sheepishly.

“It’s alright, your sister, how old is she?” Sansa asks, a bit regretting her choice of topics because she’s afraid she might offend the Hawthorne.

Elyon blinks, “She’s 15, mother used to say that she’s the splitting image of me but…” Her voice trails off and her warm brown eyes are covered with longing, “I think she’s prettier.”

“I see…” Sansa says softly, “I’m… sorry, I shouldn’t have asked—“ She tries to apologize but nothing seems to sound honest.

Elyon laughs slightly, “It’s alright, these things happens and the only thing you can do about it is to face it with all your strength,” she smiles, “You have siblings too, aren’t you, Sansa? I saw it on our reaping video.”

Sansa smiles wryly, “Yes, she’s 13, and she has my father’s look, all Stark to the bone.” She says, remembering how wild Arya is and how they always ended up doing everything with fighting and wanting to take each other’s head off.

Elyon smiles at her, not asking another question.

The interview starts then, with Clegane going first. Sansa tries to ignore the big lump she feels in her chest. She’s nervous. This is a grand show and the fact that _her_ performance here could affect how well she is in the Game makes her more nervous.

She glances at the tributes. Jeyne, with her undeniable beauty stands tall in the crowds, brown hair falls onto her back with lazy curls, and her gold dress that framed her figure. To Sansa, she looks merciless.

Sansa doesn’t put too much attention on Gregor’s interview, or Jeyne’s, or Meryn’s, Carellene’s interview sort of caught her attention. The way she answers Petyr’s question and how she speaks clearly shows her that she’s arrogant and a deadly opponent. Carellene volunteered herself at the Reaping Day for gods’ sake.

Sweet Desmera doesn’t have too much problem at her interview.

After Desmera, is the chestnut guy, and thanks to Petyr Baelish, Sansa finally knows his name.

Willas Tyrell.

She’s absolutely mesmerized by him. He answers Petyr’s question with light, easy answers. He doesn’t look like he’s dangerous, he doesn’t look like he’s weak. He smiles often, he’s a proper gentlemen.

This makes Sansa worries more because she can’t point up what kind of person he is.

When her time comes, Sansa takes a deep breath and enters the stage with a smile.

She could instantly feels that all eyes are on her. Just like the Reaping Day and the Opening Ceremony. She’s still smiling when she takes a sit next to Petyr Baelish.

“So,” Petyr starts, “Good evening to you, milady.” He says, half greeting, half teasing.

She smiles even wider, “Good evening.” Sansa replies.

“I must say, you are quite the looker, it makes me nervous to share this interview with you.” Petyr jests, winking at her but Sansa likes his smile as much as she likes Gregor Clegane.

But she smiles and shrugs it off, “Thank you, Ser, you are quite handsome yourself.” She answers giving him her sweetest smile.

Petyr and the crowds laugh. “But really, I saw your Reaping video and might I ask, your family seems to love you so much, they… seemed troubled to let you go.”

Sansa smiles slightly, “Yes, they’re worried about me not doing… well in the Game.”

“But you are going to do well in the Game, right?” he asks.

“Of course, I don’t plan to leave my family and friends back home this early, I can’t bear the thought of them gravened by my… death, I have brothers and a sister, and my mother… I don’t plan to leave them now.” Sansa says, smiling sadly.

“That is a very heart-wrenching words, tell me more about them will you?” Petyr says, pressing further.

She smiles a small smile, “Well, my mother is a single-parent, father has passed away, and she’s a very strong woman for raising all 5th of her child, my older brother is a kind man, he’s generous and funny, so does my other brother, and my younger sister, she’s wild and obnoxious but I still loved her even though I hate to admit it,” She laughs, feeling a bit sad, “And my younger brother is a sweetheart, so good and lovable, and my youngest brother is such a baby somehow but he’s so innocent you can’t help to love him.”

The crowds are now mesmerized by her speech, “That is such a wonderful family to me.” Petyr says knowingly.

“Thank you.”

Petyr laughs slightly, “Now, tell me, a pretty girl like you, do you have a… lover back home, hmm?”

A blush creeps up on Sansa’s cheek, she blushes prettily, she’s been designed to do everything prettily. “No, I don’t have one at the moment.”

“Really? Well, I find myself rather hard to believe it.” Petyr jests again.

“It’s true, actually.” Sansa laughs a bit.

“Well then, our time is up, and I do wished you the best for your Game, you’ll do well, I believe.” Petyr says, smiling at her.

Sansa stands up and smiles, “Yes, thank you, Ser, it’s been a wonderful moment.” She says, bowing a bit.

Petyr laughs, bowing, “And you too, milady.”


	4. The Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO VERY SORRY BECAUSE I HAVEN'T UPDATED FOR M O N T H S AND I'M NEGLECTING THIS STORY I AM VERY VERY SORRY
> 
> I'm going to post more in the future, I promise it by the old gods and new. *cries* So please enjoy this one :")

Renly smiles at her when Sansa stands in front of him, wearing a dark grey cat suit, however, Sansa was terrified.

“I wish you luck from the deepest of my heart, Sansa.” Renly says at her, his blue eyes shines proudly in the dim lightning of the room, strange how the King’s brother looked so different yet so similar to the King himself. Probably because Reny is handsome and slim, whilst Robert Baratheon is fat and drunken.

Sansa manages to reply his smile with her own and a small, lagging nod. “I promise I won’t fail you.” She says, managing not to choke.

Renly smiles at her, “Very well,” he says.

Then, the he takes out something from his pocket. A pin, and fastens it onto Sansa’s suit.

“Every Tributes are allowed to bring a token from their Districts, and you’re allowed to bring your pin from Winterfell.” He explains.

“Thank you.” Sansa says, smiling a bit as she stares at her direwolf pin.

Renly smiles sadly, “There, you’re good to go now.” He says, patting Sansa’s back softly.

Blinking, Sansa walks away from him and steps into the lift.

“Good luck, Sansa, ‘til our next meeting.” He says, smiling that handsome smile she loves so.

Sansa smiles, “You too, Renly.” And the ground under her moves and she’s taken up, and up, until she can’t see Renly anymore.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next thing she knows is that she’s standing on a ground covered with white, fluffy thing, and as far as she sees is a sea of crystal white.

Snow.

She know now why her cat suit is thick and warm, because the arena is in a cold, cold forest filled with snow and mountains.

2 seconds, and a solemn smile creeps up onto her face.

1 second, and Sansa knows.

Times up, and she sprints as fast as she can to the Cornucopia, ignoring the battle around her and dodging every attack and everyone. Sansa grabs the first thing she can, and it’s a black backpack and a light, thin sword, but they’ll do.

She thinks a girl attacks her but by luck, Sansa manages to dodge the attack and runs away as fast as she can, not to mention as far as she can from Jory because she doesn’t want to risk the possibility of Jory killing her, or vice versa.

Battles around her but Sansa pays no mind to it, because grabbing her backpack and her thin sword, she sprints as fast as she can, away from everyone.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Game.

She’s forced to sit in the living room with her family, together, and watch the damn show of Hunger Game.

As much as a clever girl she is, Myrcella Baratheon doesn’t understand why the whole Kingdom takes enjoyment in watching the show. Why would you enjoy seeing your own people butcher each other?

However, her brother and mother shares a different thought, it seems. She cringes mentally as Joffrey Baratheon laughs when the TV shows a tribute from who knows what district gets stabbed through his heart by someone from district 5.

“That man can’t even defend himself! Weak person doesn’t have place in this Kingdom, what a fool.” Joffrey says through his laugh.

Myrcella sighs quietly, glancing at her younger brother Tommen, who stares at the screen wide-eyed, hugging a pillow to shield himself from the terror. He’s grabbing at her sleeves tightly.

 _‘Maybe Joffrey was right at some point, maybe it’s true that weak people doesn’t have place in this Kingdom.’_ Myrcella thinks solemnly.

But her gaze falls again to Tommen, the sweet frightened child on her side, it breaks her heart to see him like this. He had never ever liked the Game, even more than she hates the Game. But Tommen knows well what Joffrey would do to him so Tommen can’t help but to join his family.

 _‘That’s not true.’_ Myrcella frowns, gritting her teeth. _‘We should’ve protected our people, weak or not, now look what we have done.’_

Joffrey stares at her, “Did you find this show scary, sister?” He sneers and Myrcella swore nothing is uglier than him at the moment.

Myrcella ignores her brother and Joffrey laughs with satisfaction. Let him be, for now.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She runs and runs and she feels blood splatters on her face but she doesn’t care, she keeps on running. Sansa doesn’t even stop when she’s already inside the forest, she keeps on running until she decides she has gone deep enough. So she slows down and stops.

It’s not until she stops that Sansa realizes how tired she is and how aching both of her feet are, and how shaky her whole body is. Gasping, Sansa leans back on a tree, slowly giving in under her feet.

Her sides are killing her, so Sansa sits up straight and breathes slowly. She stares at the surroundings around her. The snow feels cool on her aching foot, moaning a little, she scoops a handful of snow and presses it onto her burning cheeks. It feels like heaven.

Then, the thirst attacks her. The dryness creeps up from her stomach, to her chest, her throat, and her mouth.

Snow.

The snow can do something to relieve her off her thirst but living in Seven Kingdoms, especially living her whole childhood watching The Hunger Games, Sansa knows what a mere snow could do to her very life.

So she moves into a more secluded bushes and starts to open her backpack.

There’s a light and sharp dagger.

A compass.

A sleeping bag.

A bottle of water… with no water.

Two cans of nutritious biscuits.

Raincoat.

Two packs of water purification tablet.

And lastly, Sansa pulls a long tube with a circular meter on top of it, on the tip of the tube is a bit sharp and is covered with sponge.

She stares at the tool, hard, trying to remember what is the use of the tube.

Sansa smiles a bit. It’s a poison-detector, and she remembers well how to use it.

“Gods be good.” She whispers and starts to open the sponge and fills the tube with snow.

If the needle in the circular meter reaches the red area, then it’s poisonous. The checking takes 3 minutes but for Sansa, it feels like forever, sitting under the bushes, trying to be unnoticed.

And it seems, the gods are good to her this time, because the result is blue, no poison at all.

So Sansa gladly smears the snow on her lips but she doesn’t dare to eat it whole, she still doesn’t trust the tools that are given so much, maybe she’s being too paranoid but this is King’s Landing.

“Guess it’s better to find water source now, gods, I bet all the water will be freezing.” She says, sighing.

But before she can move out from her hiding spot, the sound of cannon boomed above her, making Sansa retreats deeper in the bush.

 _‘Eight… Nine… Ten… Eleven…”_ The booming stops and Sansa looks around, shifting, and startled when another cannon booms.

“Twelve.” She whisper, hugging her knees up to her chest.

Although her cat suit has been altered to warm her even in the coldest of night, Sansa feels cold. Her forehead is sweating and her body is shaking. She missed almost every deceased who had been displayed in the sky.

There are Rupert Flynn from Greenstone – District 9 and Sansa immediately prays that Elyon’s face won’t come out after him.

The old gods hear her prayer and the next person to be displayed is Orell from District 10, which Sansa doesn’t remember the true name of the District. After Orell is Mason Fenn from Greywater Watch – District 11.

She sighs silently and at the moment, she realizes that deep in her heart, she prays that Willas Tyrell won’t die just yet, and if he does, Sansa prays that she’ll be too busy to even notice the cannon.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“…She survived…” Robb says, panting, his chest rising up and down in a quick motion.

Instantly, he feels like a big lump has been removed from his chest. He can hear Arya’s stifled laugh and sees her throws herself to Jon’s arms, who quickly wrapped his arms around her, looking relieved.

“Thank the Gods.” He can hear his mother prays quietly, “Thank you, Mother, thank you.” She says.

“Sansa’s alive?” Rickon asks, feeling like if no one in the room clarifies it again for him means Sansa’s dead.

“Yes, she’s alive.” Bran says, sounding very relieved as he clutches into Summer’s fur, closing his eyes. “I know she can do it.” He says.

Rickon laughs and wraps his arms on Shaggydog’s neck, “This means Sansa will win, right? She’ll come home, right?” He asks to no one in particular.

The room is silent again then, Robb glances at his mother, who stares at Rickon with pain in her eyes. Robb knows that deep in her heart, Catelyn still can’t really come over Eddard’s death.

Arya’s the first one to talk, “She will.” She says sternly, eyes challenging everyone to say no. “She will come back, she will win, and our family can be reunited once more.”

But this family won’t be the same without father, Robb thinks, but says nonetheless, “Arya’s right, Sansa will come home for sure, she’s a Stark, she’s as strong as a direwolf, she’ll win.”

Catelyn stares at her first son then, tears in her eyes, “Yes,” her voice hoarse, “Yes, she’ll come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END NOTES BECAUSE I WANT TO RANT ABOUT JOJEN REED AND RED WEDDING
> 
> Gosh, seriously I was screaming and cursing through the whole scene. I can't get rid of Talisa's expression and her scream when that wretched Frey stabs her womb it's just.... to much, gosh.
> 
> I was actually a little late when I watched The Rains of Castamere, 3 days after the episode's out *cries*  
> My sister told me that the Red Wedding scene is so sadistic and unimaginable but stubborn ol' me just thought, "Meh, I've seen terrible way of killing in this series, Red Wedding'll probably be no different than the others, except the emotions is hard in this one."
> 
> That is... until I see a rant post about Talisa's death in Tumblr and a "Red Wedding Reaction Compilation" post, hell, all of their reaction contains lots of screaming and cursing, and after that I was afraid to watch the episode.
> 
> But still, I watched it... resulting lots of screaming, cursing (I wrapped a blanket around my body through the whole episode), and I even cried *sheds tears again at Robb's expression when he sees Talisa's corpse*
> 
> TALISA WAS PREGNANT! SHE WAS HAVING ROBB'S UNBORN CHILD! AND EVEN THOUGH ROBB IS WRONG BECAUSE HE MARRIED HER WHEN HE'S ACTUALLY BETROTHED TO ONE OF THOSE FREY GIRLS, THE LOVE THEY SHARE IS PURE LOVE, WHYYYYYY? SHE'S PREGNANT, SHE'S PREGNANT WITH ROBB'S CHILD, PROOF OF THEIR LOVE, GOSH!
> 
> I swear after I watched the episode, my stomach was churning and my throat was burning.
> 
>  
> 
> And.... has anyone noticed how hot Jojen Reed is? Holy mama, Thomas Sangster has always been hot, and Jojen's first appearance was a mixture of "I'm hot, I know everything, swag baby, I'm mouthwateringly cool and I'm smart." kind of aura.
> 
>  
> 
> I love his long neck :")  
> And I'm currently waiting for my TMR novel to arrive, can't be more happy when I know Sangster is going to be Newt! Ahhh.
> 
> Once again, if you even bother to read this, you deserve a medal, thank you so much and I know the progress of this fic is going to be slow but please, if you have the time, read this (:


	5. Tumbling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just giving you a hint...
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Does anyone realize that Greenstone is just a place I create?
> 
>  
> 
> And Elyon Hawthorne and Rupert Flynn are just an OC I created?
> 
>  
> 
> And a bit spoiler: Elyon's lil sister will have a biiiig part to play in the future chapters

Of all the worst thing King’s Landing can think of, why would they pick a snowy forest in the base of a mountain? Willas questions to himself.

He sighs as he walks quietly through the snow-covered ground. No allies, no friends, no one, only him and a piece of long sword that’s a little heavy for his taste, and dozens of body-warmer.

The odds are not really in his favor, it seems, but at least he’s still alive.

Willas Tyrell has spent nearly all of his childhood preparing what he can for today, and he’s not afraid to say that he’s quite skilled with sword and archery. He also spent his time in the library, devouring every book that can help him if he ever got Reaped (And the books have helped him thus far), and learning to observe quietly.

His grandfather, Luthor Tyrell, died in the Game, so Willas and his siblings prepare themselves when the time comes if they ever got Reaped.

But still… sending the tributes to a deserted, snowy forest is a little too much for him.

They all could die from hypothermia, their tribute suit has been altered to warm them but the suit has their own limitation, he can’t depend too much on the suit.

Snow can become a limitless water source but Willas knows that the snow can also be a trap—he hadn’t touched the snow with his hands since he first escaped from Cornucopia. He’s pretty sure there’ll be a big avalanche when the time comes.

There’s no telling how twisted the Gamemakers mind are, and he does not like it at all.

Willas walks further from the center of the forest, his mouth is dry and he’s using a farther route to get to the nearest possible water source (since it must be teeming with the Careers now). His head is buzzing with plans but none of them sounds interesting to him, Willas has no intention in winning the Game.

His only intention is to _survive_ the Game, win or not, he pays no mind to it.

He turns his head to observe everything he can see in this forest. The trees are quite strong, he can sleep in it, he has promising experiences in tree-climbing. Right until now, he hasn’t see any other living creature, save the tributes. He knows so many plants here (He’d have to thank Highgarden for that), but he rarely spots the edible ones.

Willas sighs and stares at the sky, strange to see it so blue and innocent while below it, is a bloody battlefield.

He wonders what his family is doing right now, are they eating well? Has Margaery finally stopped crying? Does Garlan treat Leonette well? Does Loras still get in trouble with the Peacekeepers? Does Grandmother is still making rebellious plans?

Willas sighs and continues his journey.

For the first time since he enters the Game, Willas Tyrell feels lonely.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She’s been walking for an hour straight and still no water. Sansa curses mentally, if she hasn’t got water until tonight, she’ll be dehydrated for sure.

 _‘I’ve prayed in the godswood the evening before the game,’_ She recalls. Sansa wasn’t really fond of the old gods. She was used to scared by the faces carved on the Heart Tree and she always feel like an intruder there.

But after her father’s death, she finds herself visiting the godswood more than she used to. Her father used to spend time there, praying and thinking. After her father’s death, the only thing that can actually mend her wounds is being in the godswood, she can feel her father’s presence there, which makes her calm.

She still remember her prayer, _“Gods, I know I’m not so fond of all of you, I don’t even know your name, but you’ve seen me got Reaped, and tomorrow is the Game, you know I’m weak, you know I can’t defend myself, so please, please help me through the Game, as much as I love my father, I still want to be with mother, and Robb, and Bran, and Rickon, even Arya and Jon. Gods, are you punishing me because I’ve been a bad person to them? If it’s true, then I’m sorry, if I ever make it back from the Game, I swear I’ll be a good sister to Arya and Jon, I promise you all, so please make me survive.”_

Sansa slumps down onto the nearest tree, “Please…” She whispers hoarsely, “Father…” she calls, trying to get back on her feet and ignore the misery in her heart.

She remembers her family back home and realizes that she’s been weak in front of them. _‘No.’_ She thinks, _‘I must be strong, remember mother, and Robb, and Jon, and Arya, and Bran, and Rickon, you mustn’t look weak in front of them.’_

Desperately, Sansa pushes herself to stand up and continues walking, ignoring the burning feeling on her legs.

She doesn’t know how long she has been walking until she finally hears the faint sound of water, strong and swift in her ears. It must be a big river, judging from the sound.

Gods, she thinks desperately. Quick and silent as Jon’s direwolf, Ghost, Sansa sprints to the water source. Much to her dislike, the river is too open and everyone can get a good view of the river from everywhere. One last move, she’ll be dead for sure.

Breathing fast, Sansa tiptoed to the nearest point to the river she can get. She hid herself behind a big tree and bushes. It’s hard to hide when you have a bright red hair that catches everyone’s eyes, so Sansa braided her long, red hair. Still… she’s not very sure whether braiding her hair could improve her chance of hiding.

She peers through the bushes. There’s no one around but that’s the point. Sansa knows that her timing in finding the river is very late, she’s pretty sure Careers are already hogging the only water source around.

But seeing the big river empty, this makes her more nervous. There’s no telling whether somebody or someone are out there, hiding like her. Grunting softly, Sansa moves away deeper into the forest and search for a better spot to reach the river. She could walk more to the lower part of the river, but there’s no guarantee it’s safe.

Sansa sighs and wait, battling mentally with herself about going to the river or not.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Seven tributes are gathering around the river, you say?” Joffrey asks, his lips twist into a malicious smile.

“Yes, Milord.” Lancel Lannister says, glancing at the Prince.

“Who are they?” Joffrey asks again, bending lower to see the screen.

Lancel touches to screen to display the lists of the six tributes.

“There’s the Frey boy from District 4, tributes from 5, the Arryn boy from 6, the Hawthorne girl from 9, the Cray girl from 11, and the Stark from 12.” Lancel says, naming the tributes on the list.

Joffrey’s smile grows wider, “That Stark girl, eh?” He repeats, “Pretty thing she is.” he says.

“Pretty?” Cersei Lannister repeats from behind his son, “Pretty thing she is, she’s a wench from 12.”

“I know.” Joffrey replies plainly. He turns his head to see Lancel, “Send out our mountain lions.” He says.

“Yes, Milord.” Lancel replies then nods to other people, who nod back at him and type into their computer.

The screen beeps and a notification about the mountain lions comes out. Joffrey chuckles, “Send a full pack.” He says.

Another notification comes out and Joffrey’s face twists again, inhuman, “Let them eat the other tributes, except for that Stark girl, leave that Stark girl for the last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are my new chapters getting shorter and shorter everyday? Sigh 
> 
> Anyway, HOLIDAY IS HEREEEEEEE SEE YOU NEXT MONTH, SCHOOL! 
> 
> You don't know how long I've been PINING over the holiday *Sheds tears*
> 
> Thank you for reading :"
> 
> And I kinda regret that I used Petyr as Caesar Flickerman, sigh, he should've played a more dangerous role in this fic, but I hate him so much...


	6. Lion's Claw and A Murderer

Rustling.

She was just about to sprint into the river when Sansa hears faint rustling behind her.

Sansa can feel her heart beats faster in her chest, she grips the tree she’s hiding on tighter. The forest was very quiet.

Was.

Until another rustling comes from bushes not far from her.

Sharpening her ears, Sansa grips her dagger tighter with both of her hands. If this is a normal woods like back in Winterfell, she’ll easily thinks it’s squirrel or something.

But this _is_ King’s Landing.

If there’s rustling somewhere near you when you’re pretty much sure you’re alone few minutes before, then, it could mean:

One, there’s a tribute (or more) near you or even surrounding you, ready to attack and finish you.

Two, there’s a tribute (or more) near you but they accidentally makes a fatal move in their hiding.

Unlikely.

Three, there’s a monster or some carnivorous predator near you, ready to attack and finish you. The predator is 100 percent from the Gamemakers.

Four, you’re just being paranoid?

Unlikely.

 _‘Alright,’_ She thinks, _‘Move, or die.’_

Sansa was just about to weigh her options when she hears a low growl from bushes 6 feet from her.

 

Sansa runs.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She runs as fast as her aching feet can take her because the noise-maker is now showing itself.

Stupidly, Sansa turns back because she couldn’t resist seeing what kind of creature that’s chasing her.

 

Her heart sinks.

 

It’s a mountain lion.

A very big mountain lion, even bigger than Sansa had ever seen in her life. The lion roars and it starts to leap towards her.

Screaming, Sansa jumps forward and makes a poor landing. She accidentally bits her tongue when her body hits the cold, hard, and rocky ground.

The lion lands just a few meters from her.

Sansa quickly stands and then she notices what is _actually_ happening around her.

Ohh, the Gamemakers are surely very smart and classic, she curses inwardly.

Around her, seven other tributes plop out from the forest, trying to escape from the attack of the mountain lion.

Sansa doesn’t even have the time to think when the lion darts at her again. Absentmindedly, she runs to the river.

She runs and run without knowing that she, Sansa Stark is about to make a big mistake.

The lion chases her and swims toward her, Sansa knows that the fierce cat can swim, but she doesn’t know that Olyvar Frey is heading towards her, spear ready in his hands.

She misses the tribute’s spear by just a millimetre, Sansa can feel the spear flies past her ears before she stumbles and falls into the river.

The water is filling her nostrils and mouth, and the coldness makes every inch of her skin and nerves scream. Quickly, she pulls herself up. Only to have Olyvar throws his spear again at her.

Panting, Sansa runs away from the spear. Her sharp dagger feels useless in her hands.

She hears another growl and the mountain lion is on her again. Her feet are heavy in the water and she’s struggling to get away. Olyvar Frey is stuck between attacking her, or saving himself from the mountain lion.

Her struggling is futile because the mountain lion leaps on her and now, she’s falling back to the water, with a massive, heavy mountain lion looming over her.

She can’t breath.

Sansa can feel the cold blade on her hand, and the lion’s sharp claw prickling her shoulder and legs. The only thing she can see is the lion’s jaw, looming over her face. Blindly, Sansa moves her heavy hand, blade tight on her fingers.

The next thing Sansa feels is the feeling of a sharp blade puncturing flesh, and red filling her view.

The lion roars again, releasing Sansa from its grip and Sansa quickly escapes.

The cold air stings her skin when she’s finally out of the water again. She can see the lion, few feet from her with its wounded front leg. The lion is watching her carefully, not as bold as before but angrier, calculating.

And then, Olyvar Frey comes, running towards her with spear ready in his hands.

But before neither of them—Sansa, Frey, or the lion—could make another move. Olyvar stops abruptly, gasping and blinking. Seconds later, the Frey tribute falls down to the river and Sansa can see his back.

Two arrows have stabbed him on the back.

Looking up, Sansa can see dark copper hair and gold-brown eyes, freckled face and bow ready on her arms.

“You might want to move, Sansa, the lion’s on you again.” Elyon Hawthorne says coolly. She releases her arrow.

Sansa moves away and she can hear the lion’s whine.

Elyon quickly moves, pulling the arrows from Olyvar’s back and taking his spear away on the process and heads for the lion.

“Never face a mountain lion before, Sansa?” She asks, arrows on her hands.

Perplexed, Sansa shakes her head.

“Well, the first thing you need to do is to show them you don’t fear them.” The redhead replies before stabbing the lion’s head with her arrow.

“Come on, we have to get away from this river.” She says quickly, pulling Sansa arms.

“W-wait... you’re helping me?” Sansa asks, fingers tight again on her dagger.

Elyon rolls her eyes, “Yes, allies, now come on, Sansa!”

Shocked, Sansa follows the redheaded girl.

The river is not as deep as Sansa thinks. The deepest part of the river only reaches her thighs, but still, it slows her down painfully.

Elyon doesn’t seem to be disturbed by it, though, lithely, she moves fast through the river.

They walk quickly and silently, trying not to get into other lion’s view—or other tributes. That is, until Sansa feels harsh tugging on her foot and she fall again to the river.

Olyvar Frey is not dead, yet, it seems. He lost his spear and now holding a dangerous-looking rock.

“Just die, will you!?” He shouts and starts to hit her with his rock.

Sansa screams and struggle from his grip, feet kicking his stomach violently.

“Stop moving!” The tribute shouts again, pulling on her braided hair painfully.

“Elyon! Elyon!” Sansa yelps in panic.

“You have to stop struggling, Sansa! I might shoot you!” she can hear Elyon’s voice.

But Sansa hears another growl and she knows Elyon won’t be able to help her for a while.

“Seems like your little friend couldn’t help you, huh?” Olyvar smiles, his hand moves to her wrist, preventing Sansa to stab him with his dagger.

“No!” She spits and tries to break away, kicking violently.

Olyvar grunts and twists her wrist making Sansa writhing in pain under him. Screaming, Sansa kicks the older boy with a massive force, square on his stomach. So strong that the boy has to release his grip and moves away from her.

Feeling some strange power overtake her, Sansa lurches forward, straddling the Frey. They wrestle and struggle until Sansa doesn’t even know what she’s doing anymore.

Screaming, Sansa yanks her hand away from him.

Sansa see’s the slivery shadow of the blade, and the next thing she knows is blood pouring from Olyvar’s chest, staining her pale hands.

She had stabbed Olyvar Frey right on his chest.

Panting, Sansa stares at the boy in front of her, gasping and bleeding.

“N-no... S-s-Stop!” He shouts when Sansa unconsciously raises her hand again.

Too late.

With an icky sound, her dagger pierces trough his chest, again, and again, and again. She, Sansa Stark, is now repeatedly stabbing a boy she doesn’t know with her own hands.

He’s dead now, for sure, but Sansa is still stabbing him, over and over and over again.

When she feels cold hand on her shoulder, Sansa turns abruptly, drawing her dagger away from Olyvar’s ruined chest, ready to stab.

She almost ruined Elyon’s face.

“Come on, Sansa, we have to go, now.” She says gently, ignoring Sansa’s dagger that’s just an inch away from her nose.

Sansa ignores her and stares at Olyvar’s face. Elyon tugs at her elbow urgently, “Sansa, there are five other lions out there and four other tributes, unless you want any other battles, we should go, now.” She says quickly.

Sansa stands up and she can hear Elyon’s relieved sigh. Gently, Elyon laces their fingers together and starts to run.

“I killed a boy.” Sansa mumbles incoherently, a hysteric laugh is tugging on the edge of her lips, “Gods, I stabbed a boy in his chest and I killed him.”

"I'm a murderer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAH I AM SO SO SO SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATES!
> 
> My computer broke down and I lose ALL data (yes, including this story's document and yada yada yada), it took me a while to remember what I have written and what I was going to write, and another long moment to recover from my depression (SERIOUSLY THIS IS DEPRESSING)
> 
> And just a quick reminder that I have made a big change in this story (You should see chapter 1)
> 
> Well, in that chapter, Bran and Rickon sounds like they're still ineligible to participate in the Game, well, guess what? All of the Stark children are in fact, older than 12 years old from the start (I have put the 'age change' tag, though I think I should've made it 'huge age change')
> 
> You should check out the notes on Chapter 1 because it explains the Stark children's age.
> 
> But if you're too lazy....
> 
> Sansa : 17  
> Arya : 16  
> Bran : 15  
> Rickon : 14
> 
> Catelyn aren't resting at all :|
> 
> And I'll probably be changing Meera's age because in the book, she's EIGHT years older than bran and well... yeah... so...
> 
> Jojen : 15  
> Meera : 16
> 
> Please forgive me T_T
> 
> And I just want to tell that next chapters will be slower to be updated (I guess my grammar was wrong in that sentence, sorry) because I lost every data and now I have to type them all the way again, so I'm so sorry and to those who have been waiting/reading this, I just want to say, you're the best, God bless you.


	7. Grief and Sorrow

Robb is _gripping_ the edge of the chair tightly. So tight until his knuckles are white and his fingers are hurting.

“Robb...” Catelyn whispers, trying to calm him down.

Useless.

He can’t scream, instead, he lets out a restrained whimper, a groan, and falls to his feet.

Catelyn quickly rushes to him and hugs her son tightly, “Robb, listen to me.” She tries to say.

But Robb brushes it off, “I should’ve been there!” He shouts, “I should’ve been there instead of her!”

“No, no, no, calm down, Robb, _listen_ , calm yourself, please.” Catelyn says, clutching her son’s shoulders desperately.

Robb gives up and let his mother embrace him. Whimpering, he let his head resting on her mother’s shoulders, “Why... why us, Mother? Why us?”

Catelyn bits her lips, “Do you think I have the answer?” She answers huskily, “I don’t know why we have to suffer this madness but the only thing we can do is to pray for her every day, pray for her safety, her victory.” She utters, cupping his cheeks.

Robb looks away, “She’ll never be the same, once she knows how killing feels like, she’ll never be the same.”

“Robb—“

“That is the truth! She’ll never be the same again, Mother, Sansa has a gentle heart, she is soft, doing such thing will cause big damage on her!” Robb shouts.

“You don’t know that!” Arya pipes in suddenly, “You should be proud that she manages to get out of there alive!”

“You’re too young to understand!” Robb shouts again, lashing his anger. Why can't they all understand? Why can't she shut up? None of them understand, none of them understand his grief. He is the oldest, he should be protecting his siblings, he should be protecting Sansa. Yet there she is, struggling for her own life. He's a failure. He's a failure of a brother.

“Don’t shout at her.” Jon speaks, his voice calm but deadly. "Calm yourself, Robb."

“I’m not that young! I am qualified to participate in the Hunger Games, so you shut up! Sansa is my sister! You have no right to treat her like some weak girl who can only beg for their life!” Arya screeches, she’s going to lunge herself to Robb, had Jon not stopped her from doing it.

“Arya stop it!” It’s Bran’s turn now, trying to contain his sister’s anger. Why can't they all just cool their head down? Bran shakes his head, things has chanaged so much after Sansa's gone. The empty spot from Eddard's death is now wider with her gone. The incompleteness they feel in their chest is bigger. How much more will the hole grows? Nobody ever felt whole again after Eddard's death. And if Sansa's gone...

“What do you know about her!?” Robb retorts. “You’re the one who always mock her and fight with her! You're the one who ruins her dolls and dresses! So you, _shut up_!”

Arya looks as if Robb had slapped her. “How dare you—“

“Enough!” Catelyn shouts, so surprising that Arya stops dead on her track and shuts her mouth grudgingly.

“Now...” Catelyn says again, “You all behave like a child, Robb, don’t lash out like that ever again, you are a man grown, act your age. And Arya, you shall never raise your voice to your brother again, he is older than you and you still have to respect him, even though he’s making a silly decision.” The red haired woman says shortly, gazing each Starks—And Snow—in the room.

“I think it’s time to go bed. Now.” Catelyn Stark says again, no signs of compromise are showed in her tone but you can’t miss the soft glint in her eyes.

All of them obey her. Robb walks stiffly to his room, not bothering to wait for Jon like he used to. The silence is deafening, and the sound of Robb’s bedroom door closing is like an explosion to Catelyn. Jon sighs and wraps his arm over Arya’s neck, “Come on.” He says.

Arya gives him a long, hard stare, but gives in anyway. Sighing, she walks with Jon behind her.

“Goodnight, mother.” Bran whispers, he nods to Rickon, motioning him to go.

Rickon stands up and instead of following Bran, he walks to his mother. “Don’t worry, mother, it’s going to be alright.” He says, taking her hand in his.

Her heart swells. Rickon is just a child, all of her children are young, they deserve a simple and safe life. They shouldn’t be troubled with deaths and worry. Her children shouldn’t have wasted their age with fear and sorrow. It pains her. It hurts her. It gnaws on her like a parasite, like a leech trying to suck out all happiness out of her.

“I won’t.” Catelyn replies, surprised by the sureness of her voice, “Go to sleep, Rickon.” She says, placing her hand on top of his red curls.

“See you on the morrow, mother.” Bran says, pulling Rickon away, “I hope you have a good sleep, mother.” He utters again before leaving the room.

No.

Catelyn hasn’t had any good sleep ever since Eddard’s death.

And she’s certain she won’t have any good sleep soon.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Myrcella sighs, “Is she going to cope?” She asks.

“Not for a long time.” The woman from the other side of the phone replies.

Myrcella dislikes her voice, she dislikes the sureness in the woman’s tone, she dislikes the woman’s confidence. Myrcella loathes her.

“I thought, she’s our most important piece.” Myrcella says carefully.

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t suffer.” The woman’s tone is flat, full with confidence.

Myrcella curses in her head, “So she’s going to die?” She asks flatly.

“I said, she’s going to lose it somewhere in the future, that doesn’t mean she’ll die.” The woman replies, and Myrcella could almost see her smile. Almost.

“How can you be so sure?” She whispers.

“Believe me, Milady,” The woman answers with her never fading confidence, “I’ve seen it in fire.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They finally stop after an hour full of running, and another hour walking.

Sansa let her feet give in and slumps on the nearest tree. The cold air is stinging her face, her cheek. The tip of her nose is almost red because of the cold. The whiteness of the snow sickens her. She sighs and closes her eyes in frustration.

“Are you okay?” Elyon asks, staring at her in worry.

“I haven’t been ‘okay’ ever since I entered this Game.” Sansa replies sourly, opening her eyes again, “How many survived?”

“Four.” Elyon answers in a small voice.

Sansa sighs again and closes her eyes, “Are we far enough from the river?”

Elyon nods, “Yes, we can sleep here tonight if you want, it’s almost dark.” She mutters, running her coffee brown eyes around their surroundings.

“I don’t think it’s safe enough here,” Sansa says, following Elyon’s eyes, “That, or my paranoia has just increased since I got here.”

The other girl chuckles and Sansa decides she likes her chuckle, “We could climb the tree...” She suggests.

Sansa feels her cheeks heat up and she ducks herself in embarrassment, “I can’t climb a tree.” She says softly.

“Well, we can find another way.” Elyon mumbles, standing up and searches the ground.

“I’m sorry, I’m not much of a use, I’ll just slow you down.” Sansa mutters lowly. She feels like a bag of dragon dung.

Elyon frowns, “Calm down, Sansa, we all have weaknesses of our own, that’s why the gods created humans with so many differences, to help and to complete each other.” She says with a smile, patting Sansa’s shoulder. “Do you want to move on into a more secluded area?”

“That could be a good idea, but, aren’t you tired?” Sansa asks, standing up.

Elyon shrugs, “Nah, I’m used to these, you?”

“Tired,” Sansa replies, “But I’d rather move than die.”

The other girl smiles, “Alright, just tell me if you’re beat.” Elyon says, and starts to walk again.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Sansa mumbles, following the girl deeper into the forest.


End file.
